The perfect Easter egg
by Cariad
Summary: Four chapters. Booth goes egg shopping. Tempe gets a gift in the lab. Ange interogates over lunch. Bones and Booth go out for dinner.
1. Booth's pov Egg Hunt

**Disclaimer:** Bones and all of its lovely character belong to someone else.

No plot, just of one of the those 'my typing fingers are possessed' moments - it just came tumbling out... (I will be back with more Scrum V soon...)

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It was lunchtime and I found myself wandering through towering stacks of candy and chocolate trying to find an Easter egg for my son. All around me people are grabbing armfuls of eggs and counting off lists of nephews and nieces, sons and daughters in their heads. 

I'm not having as much success. No, scratch that, I'm not having any success. Five shops down, still no egg. Or more accurately, lots of _eggs_, but not _the_ egg.

I know that my face is settling into a frown as I dismiss another sugary confection as not being the gift I want to give my son this weekend.

I've always hated shopping, but it only really gets to me when I'm buying something that matters. If it's a new shirt for me or the weekly groceries it's fine. I can grab something - no thought needed. But this is different. It's a part of my duty as a Dad to get Parker something he'll like. Something really cool. Something different to what his friends get. Oh yeah, and different to what Rebecca buys him.

And it's not just the pressure of getting the right thing that's souring my mood. It's all the pairs, all around me. Husband and wife. Grandma and grandson. Brother and sister. They're all out shopping together, picking up eggs, asking questions. 'Do you think he'll like it?' 'Oh white chocolate - definitely, don't you think?' And then there's me. Just me. No son by my side, conspiring to buy his Mom an indulgent treat. No wife or girlfriend to help me find my special, really cool egg for Parker.

I look down at my shoes. I catch murderers for a living. I put my life on the line regularly. I'm not intimidated by gang members or psychos. But shopping, and happy families, yup, they put me on edge.

I take a deep breath and get ready to continue my quest, trying to blot out the pretty redhead kneeling down beside her daughter and smiling as they agree that Daddy'd like a big one. I look away, but it's too late. Now _she's_ with me. In my head.

I can picture the cascade of red brown hair framing her face. Confusion in her beautiful eyes as she watches the people around her. I know she won't have had many happy Easters, but I know that she'd try for me. She'd help me choose, or just having her there by my side would help me choose. I force the daydream away before I picture us standing there with Parker and another child or two. Together. A family.

I let out an explosive sigh. Like that is ever going to happen.

I carry on walking, sightlessly. In my head I'm ticking off my list of 'why it's not going to happen'. I'm finding myself having to run through this list a lot more these days.

We are work colleagues, nothing more. I pause, okay I know that's not true.

I start again, we're partners, friends, but we're not together. That is true, unfortunately.

She is not interested in me. I pause, I know that isn't really true either.

I close my eyes for a moment - okay, she is not interested in a relationship. Oh yeah, that's true - might affect our work. Don't go there.

She doesn't want kids. I start flipping a coin in my hand as I think about that one.

I decide I'm revising that one too - she doesn't _think_ that she wants kids.

I edge past a four foot chocolate bunny rabbit, wondering how long it would take to eat all that and glad of the temporary respite from thinking about her. Us. Our non 'us'-ness.

Then I wonder if she'd like an Easter gift. Surely she would? All women love chocolate. She has no weird dieting habits as far I know. It might make up a bit for her self-imposed exclusion from our Christmas gift giving.

I realise that I'm starting to smile.

Yes, an little Easter gift. That would be appropriate.

I look around with renewed enthusiasm. There has to be something in here for her, and something for Parker too. This store has the best selection in the DC area. It can't be that hard to find two eggs?

_The_ two perfect eggs.

Well, hard or not, I'm ready to face this challenge.

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Ends quite nicely here, but could write more of you like. Let me know what you think. 


	2. Bones' pov The gift

**A/N: **Thank you so much for the reviews and feedback. The majority of you were open to developing this story a little more, particularly finding out what Bones thought of the gift. Well, you know what they say - give the people what they want...

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It's 8:30 on a Saturday and yes, I'm heading into work.

I smile politely at Dave, the weekend security guard, as he buzzes me into the Jeffersonian. I'm rather taken aback by the conspiratorial wink he returns. I smile uncertainly and speed up as I head out of the lobby. Dave and I have waved and nodded in a professional manner on countless Saturdays for almost four years, so what's with the winking all of a sudden?

As I walk along the familiar corridors I notice that the building seems totally deserted. Believe it or not this is actually pretty unusual. I'm normally not the only person putting in long hours in here. The Jeffersonian is full of people for whom work is the guiding passion in their lives. People who will spend their whole careers studying the behaviour of a single species of ant or trying to piece together the fragments of this continent's early history. We're all enthusiasts, but we're also acutely aware of the considerable privileges we enjoy working at one of the country's leading research centres. No-one wants to slip up, or get complacent or start to take the lab and its amazing facilities for granted.

Which is why it's not normally just me haunting the empty corridors of the lab on Saturday. Except today. I pause at the entrance of the lab, noticing that the lights are on.

Someone must be here.

You see, the lights switch on when they detect movement. It saves energy, but I've been caught out more than once at my desk when all the lights have dimmed and I've been left in a pool of light from my computer monitor. Still, suffice to say that there wasn't anyone to witness my star jumps that kicked the illumination back into action. Thank goodness.

I make my way towards my office, I'm still unable to spot the tell tale signs of who might be working today.

As I stand on the first step of the staircase I wonder what Booth is doing. I sigh impatiently, but don't dare look at my watch.

You see, I've been trying a new system for dealing with Booth. Well, not dealing with _him_ per se, but dealing with what is becoming a frankly embarrassing fixation. I've been a bit concerned for a while, but thought I ought to gather some evidence, so I've been timing how frequently questions about his whereabouts, activities, health, smile, voice, state of undress cross my mind. And I can safely say, on the basis of testing it out yesterday and this morning, it's too often. I stomp up the stairs irritably, ignoring the voice that's suggesting that I might find it easier to count the occasions when I'm not thinking about him.

I decide that I'm going to focus on my plans for the rest of the day, including what should be an entertaining lunch with Angela. It's become a bit of a tradition for us at Easter to meet up on Saturday for lunch and to exchange a gift. I smile slightly as I recall how it all started.

It wasn't long after Ange first started to work with me, when I found her in the ladies room in tears. I like to think that Booth would have been proud of my people skills on that occasion, as she sat perched on a toilet with the lid down, I knelt down next to her handing her tissues. I discovered that Ange's boyfriend had been cheating on her, but what seemed to be upsetting her more than losing him was the fact that she wouldn't have anyone to exchange Easter eggs with as she didn't know anyone in town.

I've got to admit that this didn't make much sense to me, although I'm told that people will often focus on the small, insignificant things when they are upset. Well, I did the only thing I could do, and suggested that we met for lunch on Saturday. And that was really where our friendship was born. Ever since, we've met up on Easter Saturday to exchange eggs and have a really good chat. I wonder idly if I should be timing how long it takes her to bring up the subject of Booth.

As I walk into my office, I start to frown in confusion.

There's an egg-shaped pile of cellophane and tissue paper on my desk.

I approach the desk cautiously, wondering where it's come from. No-one buys me anything at Easter except for Ange.

I look at the orange and brown wrapping, which is tied at the top of the egg with a real orange and brown checked ribbon. I have to admit that this egg is in very tasteful packaging. My eyes narrow as I realise that somehow it's standing up on the desk, despite being egg shaped. I grasp the excess tissue paper that is fountaining out above the ribbon and pick it up.

It's really heavy.

Which explains why it stands up.

I can also smell the chocolate wafting from the package. I close my eyes in appreciation.

I suppose I should make a confession here, I'm afraid that I'm a chocolate snob. The prospect of eating the mass produced, dry, tasteless, preservative-filled candy that most people munch their way through is pretty grim.

I blame it on spending six months shuttling between Brussels and The Hauge. I was providing expert testimony at the International War Crimes Tribunal at the Hague and working with European Union investigators in Brussels. I lived in Brussels, surrounded by Belgian beer, moules and frites and lots of fabulous, real chocolate. My chocolate eating habits were never the same again.

All of which means that I am seriously impressed with the egg on my desk.

I'm also very curious.

It's then that I notice the card, tucked into the folds of paper. I fish it out and read, distantly aware that I am breaking out into in a huge smile.

I put the egg down and tap the card against my chin, thinking.

I lean over to my phone and press the speed dial one.

I wait, listening to it ring, my fingers tightening around the phone.

There's a click as the phone is picked up and I hear him say his name.

I swallow and then say, "Dinner sounds great."

I can actually hear him smile down the phone and I sit on the chair as he tells me where we're going.

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	3. Ange's pov Lunch

**A/N: **Thank you very much for the reviews (and the Easter good wishes).

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He's cute, no doubt about it. My smile widens and I'm rewarded with a cheeky quirk of the eyebrows as he hands me my cappuccino. I recognise the quirk, he wants to know if he can get me anything else, and he's not thinking about the contents of the cafe's infamous dessert cabinet. I ponder for a moment, but decide that I'm not interested in moving our exchange into full-on recreational flirting. I shake my head imperceptibly, he shrugs and shoots me a final grin before walking off. 

I watch his retreating back. Damn, I wished I'd gotten I look at his ass before I made what now appears to be the wrong decision.

Ho hum, you win some...

I look at my watch and realise that Tempe should be here imminently. Unless she's got caught up in some skeleton. Or Booth has called in.

I allow myself a mischievous smirk. When are they going to get it together? I know Tempe's got trust issues, but it's getting ridiculous. There are occasions when I think it's positively indecent to be in the same room as them, watching the _thing_ they have right out in plain view, but with them both studiously ignoring it.

Something's got to give - I just wish it would hurry up.

I dump the contents of two sugar packets on the top of the foam. The sugar sits there, unmoving. I stir it in.

In fairness to Booth I have to admit that he has tried. The poor guy has tried every action on the 'how to get the girl list', short of just grabbing her and kissing her into submission.

It's probably only a matter of time before he tries that one too. I imagine that it's fear of getting his butt kicked that's causing him to hold back.

I ponder how he's measured up to the list.

Acted jealous in front of love rivals - check, check, check. In fact, any and all who've gone anywhere near Tempe with getting closer to her on their mind have walked straight into well over six feet of dark-haired, frowning discouragement. With a gun. I mean, it's not just spiky disapproval - he's hauled at least two downtown to the FBI interview rooms! As suspects in a case? I don't think so.

Bent the rules to get her what she wants - check again. His string pulling on Tempe's behalf has demonstrated all the muscular enthusism of a bell-ringer. Everything from getting Margaret Sanders her foster sons back to making Jesse Kane's assault charges go away, as well as all the things he did for me in the desert

Then there was that thing with her earring - that was pretty extreme even for him.

Which brings me onto another item on my list, willing to risk life and limb for her - check - and very protective - uh-huh, another massive check in the box. How many people would, having been blown up by a bomb intended for their partner, drag themselves out of a hospital bed, ripping out IV lines and facing down irate nurses, and charge to the rescue.

That's another one to add to the list, willing to go to extremes to protect her. He didn't kill the disgraced fed who kidnapped Tempe, but I do wonder how far he'd go to protect her from harm...

And all of these things pale into insignificance when you just watch the two of them together. Their body language and conversation is all I've ever needed to know exactly how they feel.

Doesn't she notice the way his eyes are magnetically drawn to her whenever they're in the same room and that his presence can drag her attention from work? And believe me, pretty much nothing else can.

Doesn't she register that he's the only person she really lets into her personal space or that he's forever touching her arm, steering her with a hand on her back. I've seen her almost break wrists when someone else has taken that liberty.

And don't be fooled by all the teasing and bickering either. I have two words for you - verbal foreplay.

I take a sip of my coffee and halt my internal rant. I know it sounds like I'm angry at Tempe, but I'm not. I just want her to see what's right in front of her and be happy. And, okay I'll admit it, I'm a hopeless romantic and them getting together would be the ultimate vicarious swoon moment!

A bell tinkles as the door swings open and my eyes are drawn towards it.

Tempe steps into the cafe.

I wave and catch her gaze, she smiles back.

A waitress brings her over and I wonder briefly where my cute-with-a-nice-ass waiter has gone.

We exchange a quick hug and sit down.

Tempe orders a drink and I look at her curiously. There's something new in her expression - something lighting up her eyes from behind.

I am about to comment, when she pulls out a sizeable chocolate bunny and wishes me happy Easter.

I reach down and hand over my gift. It's a box, well more of a crate actually, of little eggs. Tempe's favourite chocolate.

Her smile widens.

I lean back in my chair and notice that there's something else in her bag.

Looks like another egg.

Which is interesting.

We pause for a moment as the waitress - damn - comes back with Tempe's coffee and to take our order.

After the waitress is gone, I put my elbows on the table and lace my fingers together. I lean on my hands and smile at her, "Well?"

I notice a wary look flash across her face. She doesn't say anything.

Which means that she's not asking what I mean by 'well'.

Which means that she's got something to hide.

Did you know that you can say the words 'Come on Sweetie - spill' and it has the same effect as shining a really bright spotlight in the face of a suspect.

No?

Well it does.

As I slowly begin to extract the halting truth out of her without too many squeals from me, I wonder if the FBI would be interested in my interrogation technique. Come on, if it can get Tempe to confess that Booth bought her a gift, that they're having dinner tonight - oh and newsflash - she thinks she likes him, it's got to be pretty effective.

I lean in closer and inform her to clear her diary for the afternoon. We have a killer outfit to find.

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	4. A stranger's pov Dinner

**A/N: **Hello again - thank you for the lovely reviews of the previous chapter.

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I studied the menu - dessert or starter, starter or dessert - decisions, decisions. 

Who am I kidding? I always order a starter. I can still have a dessert too, but it would be too disappointing to finish the main course and then think, 'damn, I wish I'd had those tiger prawns to start'.

I put the menu down having made my decision and look around the restaurant again. It's rather nice, with high ceilings and huge floor to ceilings windows with impressive, if distant, views across the National Mall. Despite the airy, spacious look to the place, it's got a warm, rather intimate vibe. Definitely somewhere to come on a date.

I look down at my companion for the evening and sigh.

Why me? I'm sat in a beautiful, romantic restaurant with nothing but a book for company.

I know, I shouldn't complain. I'm eating in a very nice restaurant, in an interesting city that I haven't visited before - oh, and it's a really good book, but no-one enjoys sitting on their own like Billie-no-mates.

I regard my glass of mineral water thoughtfully, knowing that my complaints will have reversed by the end of the week. The three day conference that I've travelled here to attend starts tomorrow evening with a reception. I'll be dying for the peace and quiet of this evening after four nights of mingling and - _shudder_ - networking.

A waitress comes and takes my order. The restaurant seems to specialise in cool, efficient service, rather than the relentlessly perky 'have-a-nice-day' approach you generally get here. I pause, maybe it's the horror of having a Brit to look after this evening that's generating the detached service style.

We are, after all, officially the worst tippers ever. Total tight-wads.

As she walks off, I wonder if I should whip out my copy of the Lonely Planet guide and inform her that I'm well aware of US tipping-etiquette and that I can guarantee, assuming good service, that I'll shatter the stereotype for her.

I'm back to staring at my water. You see, this is what eating on your own does to you. You start planning barmy ways to start up a conversation.

Which is why I always bring a book.

I've only just found my page, when the door opens to a very arresting sight.

Yum - six foot something, well built, well dressed and pretty damn gorgeous.

Great, I can indulge in the other joyous distraction for the lonely or bored when eating out - people watching.

I put my book down.

Well, well the waitress has perked up considerably. Mind you if I was on the receiving end of that charming grin it might even cause me to flutter my eyelashes a bit. And trust me, that is normally not my style.

Little Miss newly-Perky picks up two menus and leads him in my direction.

For an electrifying, if delusional, moment I think she's actually going to sit him down on the other chair at my table. Then she veers right and seats him at the next table over, in the corner.

Still, he's directly in my line of sight. He smiles his thanks at the waitress and orders a mineral water. Apparently he'll order wine when his guest arrives.

Oh yeah, a second menu. Hardly a surprise. Tall, dark and handsome doesn't look like the sort of guy to be without a partner.

I wonder if it's a special occasion. No obvious gift with him and certainly no flowers. I tap the table slightly, thinking.

He adjusts his tie and then fiddles with his cufflinks.

He looks at his watch and then at the door. Thirty seconds later, he's back looking at the door.

First date. No doubt in my mind.

I'm wondering what his date will be like as my starter arrives. He watches it waft past and obviously enjoys the spicy aroma coming off it.

I thank the waitress and contemplate my very garlicky prawns. They need to be ripped out of their shells - very messy - which is actually a good reason for eating alone. Great - I knew there had to be some benefits.

Never order something like this in front of someone you want to impress. I've - er - seen - er - someone - fling half a king prawn across a room. For total comedy value it should have landed in some disapproving woman's drink, whereas it just splatted disappointingly on the floor, but trust me it totally killed the mood.

I'm in mid rip when I realise that tall, dark and handsome is addressing me. Sexy voice too, by the way.

I put the prawn down and try to look cool and sophisticated. No mean feat when your fingers are covered in garlic butter.

Apparently he wants to know what I ordered.

I tell him, with a discrete warning about the extreme garlic overload. I manage to avoid saying 'which won't go down well with your date', but I think he's got the message.

He smiles politely and goes back to staring at the door.

I hide a grin. See it's not only me that attempts to start up conversations with total strangers in restaurants when they're alone and nervous. Maybe I should tell him to think about bringing a book.

The door swings open and his head jerks up, every muscle tensing. Then he looks away in disappointment.

I shrug to myself, I thought that the pneumatic blonde that walked in was a reasonable bet to be his date. Apparently not.

I attack another prawn, and he's gulping the mineral water that the waitress has just brought. And looking at his watch.

It's actually rather endearing. Good looking bloke, who looks like he can handle himself, clearly crapping himself over a first date.

Now I'm looking at the door too. I want to see the woman, or man - lets not make assumptions here - who's able to have this effect on the poor guy.

The door opens and here, apparently, she is.

He puts the glass down quickly and tugs at his tie again. His eyes are riveted on the woman who is speaking to the waitress at the entrance.

She slips out of a long, dark coat to reveal a stunning emerald green dress. No sleeves, but the wide straps cover the whole shoulder. Deep, but not plunging v-neck which ends at a wide band of fabric between the bust and waist. The skirt falls away from the band in floaty pleats. The colour sets off her pale skin and mass of red brown hair, which is tumbling loose around her shoulders.

She nods at the waitress and follows her towards his table. The dress does that swishy-clingy thing that you only get from pure silk. And I _want_ her shoes. A good three inches of heel, same emerald green as the dress, but with a little red flower. Which, I realise, matches the strings of red beads around her neck.

Clearly he is not the only one taking this date really seriously.

I steal a glance at him and wonder if I ought to remind him to breathe. He is absolutely mesmerised by her. And now she's returning _the_ look.

One day, I promise myself, I'll inspire a look like that. Hopefully.

The waitress makes a sharp exit when she arrives at the table. Fair play, that's what I call professional service.

He's standing up and he catches both her hands, telling her she looks beautiful.

And for once, it's no word of a lie.

She smiles shyly and offers a compliment in return.

One that I can second with enthusiasm.

He smiles slightly and then leans in to brush her lips with his.

They pull apart after a few moments, starry eyed.

Damn - don't tell me that was their first kiss.

He reaches up to cup her cheek and she leans in against his hand.

Yup - got to be a first kiss.

He pulls out her chair and she sits.

I look down at my remaining prawn and decide to do the honourable thing. I shunt my chair round the table, and pick up my place setting, until I'm facing the window, my back to the happy couple.

I leave them, hands linked on the table top, talking quietly, gazing into each others eyes and open my book.

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Hope you enjoyed. 


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